"Do you want to be a lawyer?" I asked quickly
as he leaned over to kiss me.
"Maybe. I don't know. My father wants me to
be." He brushed his lips against mine and then turned
abruptly and lowered his head to my lap so he could
look up at me. "You look great from down here," he
said. He reached up and fingered the buttons on my
cardigan sweater. I put my hand over his. "You're not
cold, are you?"
"A little," I said.
"Take another drink. Go on," he urged. "You
won't be cold long."
I did and he smiled. His finger undid one button
and then another.
"You looked great in this dress today," he said.
"Like a fresh flower. I was jealous at the way some of
my friends were looking at you."
His finger traced the valley between my breasts.
Then he lifted himself slowly, reached behind my
neck, and gently brought me down to meet his lips. It
was like a kiss in the movies, his lips pressing against
mine, his tongue moving between my lips, the music
around us, the stars above us. I felt warm all over. My
mind reeled. He took my glass of vodka and cranberry
juice from me, urged me down to the blanket, and
then turned so he was lying face down over me. "I just knew you and I would click," he said.
"How did you know?"
"Adam Jackson knows women."
"You talk about yourself as if you were
someone else." I giggled. "I never heard anyone do